The Storm
by plotweaver
Summary: Just a bunch of connected oneshots about how Storybrooke reacts to a crazy storm.
1. Archie and Ruby

**A/N**: Hope you guys like it! Inspired by the crazy weather where I live.

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The storm came upon the town all of a sudden, with not so much of a sprinkle of a warning. The black clouds formed a wall, enclosing Storybrooke on all sides. Sheets of rain hurtled downward, drenching the roads in seconds, making travel impossible. Within minutes, sirens sounded and warnings were issued. Citizens scrambled, lugging keepsakes, treasures, pets, and children to the local school-turned-shelter.

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Ruby giggled as she wrung her hair out from the rain. She followed Granny up to the check-in table. The kind-voiced nun handed them a pack of blankets and toiletries.

"Room 118 is open for another family, as long as you're not adverse to dogs," the nun said with a smile.

Granny took one look at Ruby who was shaking the remaining water from her hair.

"I think we'll fit right in."

Room 118 was at the end of a long hall, and they could hear the barking echoing all the way down.

"Hush, Pongo! Hush! Pongo, sit!"

Ruby smiled before Granny even opened the door; she knew that voice of consternation anywhere.

Archie's glasses were knocked half off his face by Pongo's tail as the Dalmatian rushed to greet the two women.

"Hey, boy!" Ruby bent to scratch Pongo's ears and squealed with surprise as he jumped up to lick her face.

"Pongo!" Archie scolded, grabbing him by the collar.

"He's fine," Ruby reassured. "And hello to you to, Archie."

"Hi, Ruby," he said, gaining enough control over Pongo to properly take in Ruby's disheveled appearance. His awed expression and audible intake of breath gave him enough pause to lose his grip on his beloved pet and fall flat on his back when Pongo burst forth to scramble back to Ruby.

Granny smiled down at Archie. "Sure, just forget about me."

"Sorry, Mrs. Lucas," he said as he sat up and rubbed the back of his head.

Granny shot him a stern look. "How many times do I have to tell you, Archie? We've known each other too well for too long for you to call me that. Call me Granny."

Archie merely flushed.

"Uh-oh," came Ruby's voice playfully from the opposite side of the room. "Looks like Pongo sniffed out my treats!" She laughed as she gently pushed the dog's nose from her backpack and dug the box vanilla wafers out. "Smart boy," she crooned, "you know I always have cookies for you."

Archie had long ago given up the argument that the wafers were bad for Pongo's health. Watching Pongo dance for the treats always brought a smile to Ruby's face that he couldn't bring himself to deny her. Plus, Pongo always seemed more agreeable after his belly was full.

After Pongo had eaten his fill of vanilla wafers and Granny set off in attempt to aid the struggle in the kitchens to make food for the town, Archie and Ruby laughed and talked cross-legged on the floor until the wee hours of the night.

Ruby's eyes fluttered more and more and her laughter grew lighter until Archie finally remarked, "You need to go to bed, Ru."

Smiling vaguely at his rare use of her nickname, then at his stifling a yawn, she said, "You do too."

He nodded in agreement and began to search in his nun-issued parcel for bedthings and found only a pillow.

"I can't find my blanket," he mumbled.

"Pongo did," Ruby said thickly, nodding her head to the corner of the room. There Pongo lay, sure enough, curled up in Archie's blanket. Archie made to approach him and yank the blanket from beneath his beloved pet but was met with growls and bared teeth.

"Don't," Ruby's voice came muffled by her pillow. She was already curled on the floor, under her blanket. "Just share mine."

Archie felt the flush burning his skin red. He knew that if he wasn't fatigued to the point of delirium he would never have joined her under the rather small blanket. However, the sound of the storm raging outside, the chill of the classroom, and Ruby's sleepy half-smile all persuaded him to lie next to her under the warm blanket.

"I've always loved the rain," she mumbled deliriously as she snuggled closer to him.

"Yeah…" he chuckled softly. "I'm beginning to grow fond of it too."

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**A/N**: Let me know what you think! Please review. It takes two seconds and leaves me happy for so much longer.


	2. Henry and Grace

**A/N: **Just so you know, this does take place after the curse is broken, but that doesn't affect the storyline at all. Unless I decide to write a Regina chapter. Then it will. Obviously.

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Normally he knew when to behave; his ability to distinguish between moments of play and moments for seriousness was greater than most adults he knew. But Grace always brought out the child in Henry, the child that was so often repressed in light of his constant warring family.

He chased her giggles and heavy footsteps as her long hair whipped around the corner.

"Wait up!"

"Never!" she shot over her shoulder.

"But I'm always 'it'!" he half-whined. He didn't mind chasing her half as much as he let on.

"That's because you're so slow," she taunted.

Henry leapt forward, rising to the challenge. They sprinted through the labyrinth of a school, skirting around the disgruntled refugees of the storm as they made their way to their assigned rooms.

The air suddenly whooshed out of Henry's lungs as he slammed into another body and ricocheted onto the floor. Scrambling from the cool tile, he blanched as he came level with Mr. Gold's murderous glare.

"I- I'm so sorry," Henry stammered, moving to assist Mr. Gold in helping Miss French to her feet.

"As you should be, you careless—"

Mr. Gold's outburst silenced at Miss French's uncontrollable shaking. Forgetting his cane and his angry front, he instantly probed her for any sign of harm done. Her face brought him up short.

She was _laughing._

Her giggles bubbled from her lips and landed on her lover's. His smiles were more reserved and relieved, but they made quite a difference in uplifting his otherwise pained face. Grasping her hands and closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead against hers.

Unwilling to trespass on this intimate moment, Henry skirted around the edge of the hall, desperate to get away.

"Henry," a small voice called at his retreating back. He turned. "She went that way," Miss French said with a smile.

With a tentative thank you, he hurried down the hall in hot pursuit of Grace.

Right, left, left, left, right, left.

_Found her!_

Grace stood frozen in the atrium of the school. Her father, the volunteers, and a few curious citizens gathered tightly, transfixed.

Henry elbowed his way through the crowd.

"Emma!" he shouted in alarm. His mother was soaking wet, half-carrying and half-dragging an equally soaked, scruffy man into the school's foyer.

Puzzled by the appearance of a stranger in Storybrooke, especially in one of its worst times, he looked to Emma for answers. Her stony face held none, forcing Henry to ask.

"Who is this?"

Emma's face tightened.

"Your father."

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**A/N: **So what do you think? Review! It takes two seconds, but it leaves me with warm fuzzies that stick around for much longer.


	3. Mr Gold and Belle

**A/N: **Just one quick thing: I have a teeny tiny issue with Belle acting all fine and dandy after TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS of being locked in a basement. Even the isolation and barrenness of the cell alone would be enough to do anyone's head in. But secret, run-down mental asylums run by evil queens don't have the most shining reputations. So I'm guessing Belle went through some serious stuff. So I wrote her that way. Anyway, happy reading!

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They were taking their tea together as usual. He gladly relinquished his most comfortable armchair to her, and she treasured it; she leaned into it, breathing in his scent while she curled around whatever book held her interest.

On this particular evening at half-drained-teatime, Belle's head shot up from the book with such alacrity that one might've guessed she heard a gunshot outside.

"Belle?" Gold asked tentatively.

"Rain," she said simply, and fear gripped Gold's heart. Storybrooke lacked rain for nearly a month, and Belle had been doing so well. Already he could see her tensing, preparing for the storm.

He recalled the first time rain fell after she escaped her hole of a cell and found him.

He combed the house and finally found her in the closet. She had curled up into a ball and clutched at her hair. She had dug her nails into her face and cried until her eyes were bloodshot. It took hours of coaxing to get her out of the closet and even longer to convince her that he wasn't going to hurt her.

After the rain ceased and the madness slipped away, she regained enough of herself to explain that the rhythm of the rain and the boom of thunder created a mask of noise that allowed her screams to be lost when the males of the asylum snuck in her room.

So, when the all-call went out to evacuate, Gold cursed loudly. Grabbing few of his belongings, his cane and his chipped cup, he gripped Belle gently and forced her to look him in the eyes.

"I have a job for you," he whispered, pressing the cup in her hand. "I need you to hold on to this. Keep this safe. You hear me, Belle? Nothing, absolutely nothing else matters to you except this cup. Do you understand?"

He hated this, talking down to Belle and demeaning her to a child's game, but it was the only thing that worked. She was frightfully obedient when she calmed enough from her psychotic episodes to hear what he was saying. She only needed something to concentrate on, and the cup worked better than anything else.

He guided her into the rain, and she clutched the cup. He settled her in his car and drove them to the designated shelter, and she stared at the pretty blue designs. He led her inside, and she protectively tucked the cup closer to her body. He pushed past the town drunk and intimidated the poor nun to give them a room of their own, and she ran her finger lovingly around the cup's broken rim.

He gave her a job to do, and, rain be damned, she was going to do it.

Gold led her down the hallway and she followed without problem.

Until that _monstrous_ Mills boy crashed into her and knocked her to the floor.

He didn't care that Henry was only a boy, didn't care that he was apologizing profusely or he only meant well, or even that he was instrumental in breaking the curse. The only thing that mattered was that he had broken Belle's concentration, and it would take Gold hours to calm her down. By God, Henry was going to pay for plunging her back into her fear. Already she was shaking.

Then he heard her laugh.

Her sweet, bubbling laugh.

She never laughed like this: unreserved, unhesitant, and unafraid of any consequences. He brought his face closer to hers, desperate to catch every unrestrained giggle and burn them into his memory.

She eventually let the amusement pass and sent Henry in the correct path of pursuit.

Belle brought her attention back to the chipped cup that had been her life for the past half hour. She presented it to Gold.

"Is it safe?" she asked. Whether she was seeking his approval for a job well-done or imploring him for her own sake of safety, he knew not. It didn't matter. The answer was the same.

"Yes, dear," he sighed before lightly kissing her on the lips.

"Everything's safe."

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**A/N: **How did you like it? Let me know! Review, please. It takes two seconds of your time and leaves me happy for so much longer.


	4. Leroy and Astrid

**A/N: **Enjoy, guys!

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Leroy shook his head violently when he saw her running the check-in table, desperate to dispel the mental fog of alcohol.

This wasn't right! He was never supposed to be drunk around Astrid. He took extra precautions before the curse was broken: hiding the booze the night before he had to repair the abbey's plumbing, giving his extra bottle of wine to Mary Margaret the night before she had her "errand day" for the nuns' pantry.

Of course, this never meant he couldn't be piss-drunk every time he was sure of her absence. Hell, he got drunk _because _he was sure of her absence.

Now that the curse was broken, he avoided her altogether. There was no way in any world he could face her. Fairy or nun, it made no difference; she was untouchable either way. Scratch the fact that her last true memory of him was one painted with rejection. He had broken her heart. On purpose. It had been torture to see the accusing, pained look in her eyes, and he had no desire to ever see it again.

_Stupid, friggin', "mandatory" evacuation, _he thought as he gritted his teeth and willed himself to move toward her.

Halfway there, just when he thought he had found what to say, he instead found himself being brutally elbowed out of the way by a terrifying Mr. Gold.

Gold leered down at Astrid.

"Give us a room to ourselves. Out of the way where we won't be bothered by noise."

Astrid fumbled with the lists and charts in front of her, instinctively leaning away from Gold's overbearing presence.

"Um," she quavered in her high-pitched ring, "I-I-I don't know if I can really do that."

"You will give us that room, or I will void your lease and leave you on the streets so fast you won't have time to say 'bippidi-boppidi-boo'," Gold hissed through gritted teeth.

"Hey!" Leroy barked, finally finding his courage. "Don't talk to her like that." Gold whirled around to face his challenger. "You owe the lady an apology, Gold."

"I owe her nothing," Gold spat. "She on the other hand—"

"She's just trying to help you. Any normal person would just accept it, but you're being a—"

"You dare to—"

"Yes, I dare."

"And what is she to you?" Gold's accent caressed the loaded question. Leroy hated the flicker of amusement across Gold's face once he saw the tension the question created.

Leroy's focus jumped. First, Gold's smug smirk, sniffing out an advantage to be pressed. Then, half-hidden behind him, Gold's true love, desperately clinging to a chipped teacup. Finally, Astrid's wide eyes locked with his, every bit of them asking the question Gold posed. His mind managed to wipe how heartbreakingly beautiful her eyes were: so full of hope and curiosity. Her eyes were meant to see the world, one where he had nothing to give her.

A sudden boom of thunder broke the moment, bringing the roar of the rain outside back to their attention and the frustration back to Gold's face.

"A room?" he asked, turning back to Astrid.

"Room 208 is open," she replied, handing him two packs of blankets.

He snatched the supplies and, without one look at Leroy, led his beloved through the school hallways and out of sight, leaving the drunk and the clumsy nun to stare at each other.

"I—"

"Save it, sister," he grumbled, failing to keep any emotion out of his voice. "I know where the janitor's closet is. It's where I belong."

Leroy leaned over the table, grabbed a supply pack, and sulked off to find his self-appointed room.

And he managed that without having to look into her eyes.

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**A/N: **What do you think? Please let me know. Review! It takes only a moment of your time, but it keeps me happy for so much longer!


	5. Emma and The Stranger

**A/N: **So I recently read over the first chapter of this fic and internally cringed. Maybe I'm being way too harsh on myself, but I really hope this fic gets better as it goes. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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Emma grit her teeth and ducked her head against the pelting rain. Evacuations were never fun, but she didn't even have a choice when it came to situations like this. Instinct, chiseled by years of solitude kicked in.

She quickly dropped Henry off with his – it was still weird to think about – grandmother, chuckling to herself and wondering how long it would take before Mary Margaret lost him in the school. Emma had made a killing tracking down people in a previous life and _she_ could barely keep tabs on Henry.

Despite their remaining naiveté of this world, Emma had come to hold some sympathy for the citizens of Storybrooke. They were lost souls in this world, trying to find something remotely resembling home. The desperation and emptiness of that particular endeavor was no stranger to her. So when she saw the fear and confusion rendered from having to abandon what semblance of home they had, Emma's heart ached.

But no one would know. Her hard-set expression and the rough orders she barked at the stragglers betrayed no weakness.

After nearly an hour of being battered by the elements, she squinted through the downpour, carefully searching for any remaining souls. Storybrooke was roughly the size of a matchbox, and even with the curse broken, hardly anything changed the landscape of the tiny town.

Therefore, Emma noticed the dark shape huddled against Mr. Gold's pawnshop immediately.

"Hey!" she shouted, running toward the figure. The worsening weather left no time for gentleness or caution. The wind started to grate against the buildings, wrenching several shingles from the roofs. They had to get inside _now._

Emma bit back the flood of choice words begging to surge out of her mouth as the rain grew impossibly colder. Fighting through it she finally made it to the shadow's side. The rain had plastered its thick, dark clothes to the shaking form underneath, and Emma could easily deduce the figure was a male of her own age. His feeble attempts at protection by shielding his face with his sopping collar and hands kept her from seeing any more of him. She turned his face toward her to check for consciousness.

A face that she knew, but didn't want to know, bobbed on a comatose head.

"Fuck!" she roared, and the thunder echoed.

She stepped back with every intention to leave him to the mercy of the storm, but halted when a hint of a whimper tore through his lips.

Emma cursed every moral bone in her body, every word in Henry's storybook that destined her to be a hero, and hoisted the man over her shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Luckily the school was not far and the combination of what little warmth the man gave and the struggle of exertion on her part kept Emma from noticing just how cold the rain was.

Emma burst into the school with as little drama as a rain-soaked woman saving a rugged, full-grown man's life can. Leaving behind a trail of water abundant enough to rival the Nile, she roughly dragged him to the center of the atrium. Some innate part of her registered that she had garnered a crowd, and she combed the faces surrounding her.

_Please don't be here, _she silently prayed to any deity that would listen. _Please don't see this._

But, of course, he wouldn't stay away. He was her son after all, and that meant he had an addiction to curiosity and a propensity for danger. His face popped up in the crowd after mere minutes. She didn't want to meet his eyes.

"Who is this?"

She debated lying. She debated ignoring him. She tossed around every response, but gave the worst one.

"Your father."

Henry's eyebrows shot up. She tried to ignore a town's worth of whispers that suddenly surrounded her. Already, several of the nun's had swooped in to strip him of his sopping coat and cocoon him in blankets.

Emma found herself crouching in front of Henry while he struggled to find a question to ask.

"Is he… He's not… dead, is he?"

She shook her head quickly.

"He'll be fine," she heard herself saying, yet she could tell that neither she, nor Henry believed it.

The man moaned, and Emma tensed.

"Henry, I want you to look at me," she said as she caught her son's shoulders with shaking hands. "I don't want you to go near him. I don't want you to talk to him."

"But—"

"I know he's your father, Henry. But it takes more than that to be a part of someone's family. He doesn't know the meaning of—"

"You."

Emma whirled at the sound of the long-forgotten voice.

The man had regained awareness. His stare never wavered from her.

_No, _she realized, when she shifted uncomfortably. _He's not looking at me._

Following the gaze that barely glanced over her left shoulder, she turned and saw Mr. Gold several yards away discreetly taking a toothbrush from one of the supply boxes.

How he felt her gaze on him, she had no clue, but Gold quickly jerked his head toward her in acknowledgement.

"Sheriff Swan," he said with amusement while he limped toward her. "Surely you won't arrest me for replacing my toothbrush."

She ignored his remark and tilted her head to the man on the floor whose moans had increased volume.

"Do you know this man?"

Gold narrowed his eyes with suspicion at her tone and took in the man's haggard appearance.

"No. I remember every soul I ever made a deal with. He's not one of them. If you'll excuse me, I must return to—"

Explosive, mirthless laughter froze Gold and raised goose bumps on Emma's arms. It bounded off the walls and echoed unnaturally. The source, the man on the floor, attempted to suppress it, but he was too weak to do anything but let it flow outward.

"He said you wouldn't recognize me," the man coughed. "Said you'd be too preoccupied with yourself to notice."

"What?"

"The family resemblance," the man choked out between remaining laughs.

"What are you talking about, boy?" Gold spat with all the terribleness of Rumpelstiltskin.

The man laughed once more, harshly, before soberness overtook his face.

"Is that any way to talk to your grandson?"

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**A/N: **How did you like it? I probably just dug myself into a hole here, because I intended this to be no longer than seven chapters, but with a cliffhanger like that, who knows where it's going? I mean, I know where it's going. I just don't know how long it will take to get there.

Please review! It takes two seconds, and it leaves me happier for much longer. Like I was saying, I recently got discouraged by the terribleness of the dialogue of the first chapter, so please, ANY feedback (positive or negative, providing the negative is helpful) is appreciated. Love you guys!


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